


Breathe

by hereliesnils



Category: Chernobyl (TV 2019)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, M/M, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-04
Updated: 2019-09-04
Packaged: 2020-10-10 02:23:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20520392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hereliesnils/pseuds/hereliesnils
Summary: Boris is there for Valery. Set sometime between Episode Four and Five.





	Breathe

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gwinny3k (lesshoney)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesshoney/gifts).

Boris had given up on engaging Valery in any kind of celebration. No matter how many times Boris loomed over him with an open bottle and an expectant smile, clinging to whatever sliver of success he could, Valery was unwavering in his misery. After the fucking robot, and the decision that followed, Boris accepted that he would only get Valery to drink to commiserate, or maybe to forget.  
  
They were left, the two of them, at some ungodly hour with nothing to do but retreat to the trailer and wait for a car to take them back to the hotel. Boris made a beeline for the table, Valery following without intent like they were attached by a loose thread.  
  
“I think we need a drink,” Boris said. Valery made a dismissive, petulant noise.  
  
“There's no need to be rude,” Boris rumbled. He persisted in pouring out two glasses.  
  
“There is every need-” Valery started, voice raised, before catching himself and continuing through clenched teeth, “no, no not to you.”

Boris necked his vodka at exactly the right moment to explain away the sudden surge of warmth in his chest. Valery reached out, downed his own, and slammed the empty glass back onto the table with uncharacteristic vigour. Boris peered over to discreetly check Valery's hand as it closed into a fist.  
  
“Calm yourself,” Boris said. Valery shot him a surly look, then cast his eyes to the space on the table where a phone should have been. Much of their communication bordered on the telepathic these days. When Boris frowned, Valery threw himself onto a stool with enough force to send it skidding backwards.  
  
“How can I be calm? It's awful, there's-” Valery's voice broke on the “awful” but he tried to press on. It was a gasping intake of breath that halted him. He put a hand to his chest, just below his throat, and his shoulders heaved. His eyebrows twitched in confusion as his breaths started to come in short, sharp pants.  
  
“I'm sorry I-” he was cut short by another pained gasp. His jaw jutted forward, baring his lower teeth. Boris had seen this in other men. Valery was panicking, and he was frightened by his own reaction, and the two would only feed each other. Boris lifted another stool and set it behind Valery. He sat astride him, matching him like his shadow at sunset.  
  
“Breathe in time with me,” Boris said. A gruff instruction. Valery's next breath started slow before catching and forcing out yet more stricken pants.  
  
“Try again,” Boris said, his voice lower. He inhaled deeply as if to demonstrate, his chest pressing against Valery's back as his fingers closed around his upper arms and held him upright. They pushed through a few attempts before Boris felt any progress.  
  
“There you go,” Boris said, “that was a good one.”  
  
There was a little satisfied hum in his voice. Valery was certain he felt the soft vibration against against his back. He sunk against Boris' broad chest, his shoulders lowering. He took another deep breath and inhaled the air like cigarette smoke.  
  
“Good,” Boris said. His fingers moved against Valery's arms, trailing over the coarse fabric of his fatigues once, twice, before coming to rest again.  
  
“Give me another one,” he said. Valery couldn't help but let the next long exhale escape as a sigh.  
  
“Good,” Boris repeated, barely a whisper now. They sat together without another word, just the sound of their breath steadily syncing. When Boris was satisfied, he let his hands fall away from Valery's arms and pushed himself to his feet, grateful that Valery could not see his grimace. He gave himself a moment, a squaring of the shoulders, a shake of the head, before extending an arm to pull Valery up alongside him. Valery stumbled to his feet and allowed Boris one of his wobbly smiles.  
  
  
  


Valery dozed in the back of the car on the way back to the hotel. Boris couldn't remember a night when they hadn't returned to their room bleary eyed and exhausted, but now Valery was lolling against the window, eyes closed behind those thick lenses. It took all Boris' strength not to reach out and lift the glasses from his face. He started to wonder how far he could carry him, and decided that he would make sure they reached their room even if he never walked upright again. Mercifully, the driver swung them around in a tight U-turn and braked suddenly outside the hotel, waking Valery as he lurched around his seat.

Boris let Valery use the bathroom first, listening to his sloppy attempt to brush his teeth from his perch at the edge of the bed. On the first night in this shithole, Boris had claimed the double bed without even asking. Valery had retreated to the single bed set in an alcove in the smaller half of the suite without even a hint of an argument. That was before “five years”, before “Valera”, before lunar rovers. _What a bastard._

“Good night,” Valery said as he crossed the room. His chin was drawn close to his chest and his eyes stayed on the carpet.

“Good night,” Boris said, watching Valery shuffle around the corner. He waited to hear the shifting of cheap pyjamas against bedclothes before he rose and made his way to the bathroom, turning off the light as he went.  
  
  
  


Boris awoke to the miserable sound of a ragged whimper filling the room. Valery. Boris swung his legs out of the bed and reached for his watch, angling it to check the time in the moonlight creeping around the curtains. Barely an hour had passed.  
  
He padded his way towards the sound, the sparse carpet scratchy against his bare feet, until his toes collided with something smooth and cold. He let out a curse, barely louder than a breath. An ashtray. On the floor. Words would be had, but not tonight. Boris stooped to push it against the skirting board, his back complaining. _Fuck being old, and tall, and tired, and here._  
  
Valery's whimpering peaked for a moment with a high, strangled sound. He was still asleep, facing out into the room with his eyes shut and his brow furrowed tight enough to look pained. He had at least removed his glasses, Boris noted with approval, but they had been left perched precariously on the stack of books by the side of his bed. Boris added it to the list of Things That Must Be Discussed, before he was struck by the guilty realisation that Valery didn't have a bedside table like he did. The bed itself was barely big enough for a man. It occurred to Boris that it may have been intended for a child. Despite this, Valery had managed to draw his knees his up close enough to his chest to leave a yawning gap between his feet and the wall. Valery's body lurched slightly as his breath hitched in something not unlike a sob.  
  
Something in Boris broke. His last steps were still quiet, but his hands were at Valery's shoulder and forehead in an instant. Valery jolted awake with a deep gasp that startled Boris, sounding almost agonal. Boris crouched down until their faces were close enough for Valery to at least see the outline of his features in the dark.  
  
“It's okay,” he mouthed, “it's me.”  
  
Valery squinted and let out a shuddering breath. Boris moved the hand against his bare shoulder in a soft trail as he had done earlier, one, two. His other hand pushed sweaty hair back from an even sweatier forehead. The look Valery gave him, confused and pleading at the same time, made his next decision for him.  
  
Boris flicked back the thin blanket and clambered onto the edge of the bed. It was not comfortable, only just achievable, and he had to leave one long leg hanging out of the bed with his foot planted on the floor. It wasn't just his back that was protesting now, but he would have to pay for it in the morning. His forearms came to rest against Valery's back, hands curling around his shoulders to pull the two of them chest to chest, face to face.  
  
“Breathe with me,” he whispered. If anything, Valery stopped breathing altogether. A moment passed, then their chests heaved in unison. Valery let out a tiny, beautiful sound. His hands clutched at Boris' vest. He inhaled again, slower, deeper, and Boris rewarded him with a soft, barely-there kiss. For each even breath, he gave him another, until all was calm enough to deepen, lengthen. Valery grasped at one of the straps of Boris' vest and pulled it down over his shoulder to reveal coarse hair and hot skin. Boris rocked their bodies together, coaxing a gasp from Valery who arched as if it was the first time he had been touched. Boris caught Valery's eye again and tossed his head in the direction of his own bed. The smile Boris gave Valery was barely a twitch at the corners of his mouth, but his eyes glistened with affection, resplendent.  
  
Valery could surround this fucking bed with as many books and ashtrays as he wanted, they wouldn't need it again.


End file.
